The Kingsroad became abruptly rugged north of the Twins. The sound of wheels crushing gravel echoed in the wilderness. After Daemon Targaryen and Caraxes left, the atmosphere of the retinue seemed to thin along with the shadows of the Rogue Prince and the red dragon.
When Daemon pulled on The Cannibal's reins, his fingertips could already feel the unique chill of the North—the wind carried tiny ice particles, hitting the black dragon's scales and raising fine white steam.
"Any further north, and we'll need thick cloaks." Gael's voice came from Dreamfyre's back. Pale blue dragon wings folded slightly to protect Mysaria in her arms.
Frost clung to the girl's platinum-blonde curls, her small face flushed with cold, yet she still looked curiously at the rolling hills in the distance. "Lord Roderick says past the Neck, even summer sees snow."
Daemon looked down at the Kingsroad surface. The flagstones Jaehaerys paved years ago were shattered here, revealing frozen yellow earth beneath. Thin ice crusted in ruts; every step felt like treading on glass.
Larys Strong rode his grey donkey on the flank, black robe hem sweeping over frozen grass blades with a rustling sound. "Northmen say 'The Kingsroad becomes a goat track at the Neck.' True indeed." He pointed to a winding causeway ahead. "That is the only passage through the Neck. The ruins of Moat Cailin are ahead to the left."
Daemon looked in the direction he pointed. Endless swamps flanked the causeway. Rotting vegetation floated on grey-green water. Mist rolled on the surface like boiling thick soup.
The outline of distant ruins was blurry; broken walls half-submerged in muddy water. That was the ancient barrier of the Kings of Winter against southern invasions, now only wind whistling through broken window holes remained.
"House Stark ancestors had foresight." Roderick Dustin rode alongside Daemon, blue-grey eyes sweeping the swamp. "Using the Neck as a natural defense line, how many fools broke here."
The rusty axe at his waist swayed lightly with the horse's bumps. "House Frey choking at the Twins is child's play compared to this."
When the retinue reached the middle of the causeway, the mist suddenly thickened. Visibility dropped to less than ten paces. The Cannibal's breath condensed into white pillars in the fog. Dreamfyre flicked her tail uneasily, frost thickening on her scales. Mysaria gripped Gael's sleeve tightly, voice trembling: "It's—so quiet here."
Indeed quiet. Even the wind sound was sucked away by the swamp. Only the hollow sound of hooves on planks and faint croaking of frogs from afar remained—hoarse sounds unlike living creatures, more like reptiles hissing in mud.
Larys suddenly halted his grey donkey, black robe spreading like bat wings in the mist. "Prince, watch your step." He pointed to gaps between causeway planks where black water gleamed oily. Under slimy green water weeds, something was wriggling. "Old folks say lizard-lions that bite hide in the mud of the Neck."
Before he finished, The Cannibal suddenly let out a low roar. A huge dragon claw smashed a plank. Amidst splashing muddy water, a black creature as thick as an arm was thrown into the air—crocodile-like snout but dragging a snake-like long tail, writhing madly upon landing.
"It's a swamp lizard." Roderick Dustin drew his rusty axe, a trace of vigilance flashing in his blue-grey eyes. "These things move in packs. Seems we intruded on their territory."
Sure enough, hissing sounds came from the mist. Countless small yellow eyes lit up on the water surface like scattered ghost fires.
Gael immediately had Dreamfyre spew pale blue dragonfire. Flames swept across the water, scalding the swamp lizards into shrill hisses, diving into the mud one after another.
"Speed up!" Daemon patted The Cannibal's neck. The black dragon flew low with spread wings, claws occasionally sweeping the causeway to smash swamp lizards trying to climb up. The retinue moved fast under dragonfire cover. Planks vibrated violently under hooves, as if ready to break anytime.
After traveling for unknown time, a rift suddenly appeared in the fog ahead. A grey-green island was faintly visible floating in the swamp.
In the reed clusters at the island's edge, dozens of sharpened stakes were planted. Wind-dried lizard-lion skulls hung on top, looking like hideous masks in the mist.
"It's Greywater Watch!" Roderick Dustin pulled his reins, tone relieved. "Old Lymond finally didn't shoot us through as invaders."
The cluster of wooden houses in the center of the island became clear, built on stilts, roofs covered with peat and reeds. Black smoke from chimneys mixed with mist, indistinguishable.
A dozen crannogmen in grey-green cloaks stood on the pier holding spears, tips quenched with dark green venom. Seeing two giant dragons, their eyes held awe, but they still blew horns made of conch shells. The woo-woo sound was like the swamp breathing.
A short, stout middle-aged man walked at the front, wearing a tanned lizard-lion skin vest, stone axe at his waist. Face full of weather-beaten wrinkles, but eyes bright as stars in the night swamp.
"Roderick! You old bones can still cross the Neck!" His voice was loud as a bell, opening arms to give Lord Dustin a bear hug. Stone axe handle hit rusty axe with a dull thud.
"Lymond Reed, you swamp frogman, still stinking." Roderick laughed back, patting mud stains on the other's back. "Don't just catch up; let me introduce—this is Prince Daemon, Princess Gael."
Lymond's gaze turned to Daemon immediately. Violet eyes and silver hair gave him the most direct hint.
He didn't kneel, just bowing slightly. The stone axe blade glinted in the mist. "Welcome to Greywater Watch, True Dragon Prince. Crannogmen don't use southern etiquette, don't take offense." He emphasized, "Just call me Reed. The title of Lord is less useful than 'Marshal of the Neck' here."
Daemon dismounted, Blackfyre's scabbard hitting a stake with a crisp sound. "Lord Reed, we pass through here, wishing to borrow the way to Winterfell."
"Borrow the way?" Reed grinned, revealing two rows of yellow teeth. "In the Neck, there's no 'borrowing the way,' only 'whether House Reed lets you pass'." He stepped aside jokingly, "But for the sake of old Roderick, and your dragons being truly scary enough, please rest at Greywater Watch tonight."
The crannogmen's wooden houses were more spacious than they looked. Walls woven of wicker and plastered with peat were insulated and damp-proof. Reed had stewed lizard-lion meat and rye cakes served. The meat soup in pottery bowls gleamed with oil, sprinkled with unknown herbs, surprisingly savory.
"Try this." Reed scooped a piece of meat with a wooden spoon. "Lizard-lion hind leg frozen in ice last winter, more filling than your southern venison."
Gael hesitated then tasted a bite, eyes lighting up. "Very fresh."
"Naturally." Reed lifted his chin smugly. "Crannogmen have lived on this for thousands of years. When the Andals came, we hid in the swamp; when Ironborn raided, we scuttled their ships; even Targaryen dragons probably can't burn through this sky-filling fog."
He glanced warily at The Cannibal dozing at the island edge, breath condensing into ice particles in the fog. "But your dragons are indeed formidable, scarier than legends."
Daemon noticed no weirwood or Seven statues in the wooden house, only a huge lizard-lion skin hanging in the corner, claws wrapped in dried vines. "Crannogmen don't believe in Old Gods?" he asked curiously.
"Believing in any god is worse than believing in your own spear." Reed drank ale, liquid turbid as mud. "First Men trees can't live in the swamp; Seven statues were burned as firewood long ago." He leaned in whispering, "But when Starks come, we put a small sapling at the pier to make them happy."
Roderick laughed loudly. "This is your Crannogmen way of survival?"
"What else?" Reed raised an eyebrow. "The Neck is only this big. Without wit, southern fools would have gnawed us bone-dry long ago." He lowered his voice suddenly. "You came from the Twins? That old fox Frey didn't trip you up?"
Mentioning Lord Frey, Daemon's face darkened. "He's dead, in the fire of his study."
Reed's eyes lit up. "Burned to no bones left?" Seeing Daemon nod, he slapped his thigh. "Well done! That old thing wanted to build a causeway in the Neck decades ago. My dad poisoned three foremen with lizard-lion venom before he finally gave up."
At nightfall, cold rain fell on the swamp, hitting reed roofs like countless fingers tapping lightly.
Daemon stood on the platform of the wooden house, watching crannogmen dance around the bonfire. They sang ballads in the Old Tongue, lyrics full of reverence for land and water.
Reed and Roderick sat by the fire drinking ale from stone bowls, occasionally erupting in coarse laughter. Stone axe and rusty axe lay side by side on the ground, like old comrades.
"Northmen are straightforward." Gael's voice came from behind. Wearing a lizard-lion skin cape sent by Reed, pale violet eyes reflected firelight. "Much more pleasing to the eye than King's Landing nobles."
"They don't need disguises." Daemon watched The Cannibal's black shadow in the distance shielding Dreamfyre with wings. "Here, surviving winter is skill; no time for southern schemes."
Mysaria sat hugging her knees in the corner listening to crannogmen songs, fire sparks on her platinum-blonde curls.
Alys Rivers sat beside her at some point, playing with a necklace of lizard-lion teeth, green eyes shining mysteriously in the firelight.
Larys Strong chatted agreeably with Reed's eldest son. His grey donkey tied to a stake chewed moss given by crannogmen, occasionally neighing contentedly. The shadow of his clubfoot swayed in the firelight, as if mimicking the crannogmen's dance steps.
Early next morning, rain stopped. The island of Greywater Watch had drifted to another part of the swamp unnoticed; the pier faced completely different reed clusters than last night.
Reed pointed to a boy resembling him greatly. "This is my second son, Joren. Let him guide you through the Neck. He can find Moat Cailin ruins with eyes closed."
Joren, about sixteen, taller than his father, held a bone dagger. Seeing Daemon, he only nodded, turning to jump onto a dugout canoe carved from a whole tree trunk, light as a leaf.
"Remember, in the Neck, follow the current, don't trust the sun's direction." Reed's voice echoed in the mist, stone axe on shoulder. "When at Winterfell, greet Ellard Stark for me—tell him this year's lizard-lion skins are being prepared."
The retinue followed the canoe through maze-like waterways. Joren occasionally tapped the gunwale with the bone dagger in specific rhythms, receiving responding knocks from deep within the swamp.
Daemon watched strange flowers and grasses pass on banks; some bloomed blood-red, some roots glowed. Alys Rivers occasionally made Mysaria note these plants, green eyes full of curiosity.
When the causeway of the Kingsroad appeared again, Joren suddenly turned the canoe. "Ahead is Moat Cailin. Past there is the heart of the North." He said no more, just waving the bone dagger and vanishing into reeds as if never there.
Roderick looked at the swamp, rusty axe gleaming in the sun. "Crannogmen are like this, come and go without a trace. But if you need them, blow a conch, and they'll drill out of the mud to cut your enemies' throats."
Daemon pulled his saddle, The Cannibal letting out a long roar vibrating ripples in the swamp water. The wind of the North blew with biting chill. The Kingsroad extended north like a silver ribbon, disappearing into the distant forest sea.
"Winterfell is not far." Gael's voice held anticipation. Dreamfyre's scales glowed pale blue in the sun. "Wonder if the Stark castle is warmer than Riverrun."
Daemon gazed at the endless forest sea, suddenly remembering Reed's words—in the North, survival is the most real thing. Perhaps ice and snow here could let people see what they wanted more clearly than southern silk and gold.
When the retinue set off again, the shadow of Greywater Watch was left far behind. Only the mist of the Neck hovered low, like a reluctant grey veil. The land of the North unfolded underfoot, desolate and magnificent, awaiting the footprints of true dragons.
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